


Dangerous Animals

by velificatio



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Catboys & Catgirls, Choking, Felid Dynamics, Humiliation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Promiscuity, Rough Sex, Slapping, Spanking, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern felid society knows fuck all about nature or how to properly nurture. When it comes to sex, for John tenderness should only reign after a sound beating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Animals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grizzly_bear_bane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/gifts).



> This is a birthday gift for grizzly-bear-bane and a prelude to my upcoming masochist John verse.
> 
> ABOUT THE FELID DYNAMICS:
> 
> The catboys/catgirls in this verse are a feline centric spin on a/b/o dynamics. Instead the dynamics here are queen/tom/tabby, with queen a rough equivalent of an omega, tom an alpha and tabby a beta. Similar to bear's a/b/o verses there are apex dynamics for queens and toms. Apex male queens have a separate vaginal orifice located below their penis, and their testicles are internal are while apex female toms have a separate penis. All female queens are apex's and all female toms are apex. 
> 
> Instead of knotting, apex queens have a process during sex known as "locking" where the inner walls of their vaginas swell to the point a penis cannot withdraw from it. Those walls then vibrate and force the penis to ejaculate until the queen's body believes conception has taken place. In place of barbs apex toms have raised rows of glands on their penis to coax the queen into locking with them.
> 
> In addition to this male apex queens and apex toms have a baculum in their penis to ensure arousal can be maintained until the queen locks them. Female queens have a baubellum in their clitoris for the same purpose. I am aware this is not a feline trait.

Wearing masks is second nature to John, he's adopted an approachable, acceptable one out of necessity. The problem with a mask, however, is that it’s only covering your surface areas. What’s much more difficult than wearing a persona is slipping into a new skin entirely.

 There are parts of John that simply refuse to conform to how felid society tells him queens are supposed to behave. What they’re supposed to respond to sexually. Gentle touches and ample pampering, the most tender of worship. He’s learned to stop fighting his nature in that regard. To embrace the hungry, animalistic part of himself that begs for no blood to be shed other than his own.

John loves getting fucked raw, likes to be degraded and handled roughly while he’s fucked. Most of all he loves to feel the ache and stretch from brutal treatment during sex. To _hurt_ from it. To feel rug burn or concrete scrape his knees while his back is bowed so far it burns, ass up high in the air, bruises blooming on his skin.

It’s an old longing to him. Pain and pleasure have worked hand and hand for John ever since he first began experimenting sexually.

In his bunk at St. Swithins he’d pull his hair until the sting made his eyes water, frantically stroking his cock. Sometimes he’d let his hand wander further down, touching almost shyly at his swelled perineum. He'd learned from stolen magazines apex queen's cunts were always larger than a tabby or toms. One unforgettable moment he’d slapped his cock and cunt until he came hard enough to shout, pissed after Father Reilly broke him off getting to second base with Adam Foster.

Afterwards he’d felt more relaxed than ever, the rage at the forefront of his mind slipping back behind the mask of John Blake.

There’s a name for queens like him. _Feral_ is the description John’s afforded the most. Promiscuous, never fulfilled, hypersexual even for an apex queen. Those are the kindest words John’s gotten though he’s not at all unused to others.

Whore has been thrown at him often, in situations where the John’s first reaction isn’t arousal at all. Usually from clingy toms or insecure tabbys who won’t respect John enough to understand that “this is just a one-off” means exactly that.

Mating is supposed to be queens driving force. Finding a good tabby or tom to bond with then settling into a white picket life of pride oriented jobs and cubs filling up the house. But attachment is the last of John’s hang-ups.

Instead he’s perpetually unable to stay faithful to one partner, even outside of a heat, when there’s no fault put on his partner for failing to properly satisfy him. No, the blame is all reserved for John. Never content with a mate, easily carried away by a whiff of pheromones.

Just as well. John has all but given up on monogamy, on mating altogether.

He’s moving too fast for that.

 

+

 

On his first week in the Gotham City Police Academy John sets a rule for himself: Do not fuck fellow students.

A month later he half-regrettably amends it: Do not fuck fellow freshmen and sophomores.

Success has always come easier when he’s honest with himself.

 

+

 

If he’s not studying or already fucking someone, John spends a typical Friday evening downtown amid the bustle and neon lights of Gotham’s club scene. A young queen of apex status, it isn’t hard to get into places even if he’s two years shy of legal drinking age.

Clad in a backless black shirt and dark jeans, John’s dressed to highlight the months spent conditioning his body up to a standard the GCPD would require. He only regrets his clothing choice while outside with the chill of Gotham’s last days of fall.

Once he’s inside however, it doesn’t take long for him to attract attention.

In contrast to the lurid swelter of the dancefloor the air in Concrete Wildernesses’ bathroom is cool, tingles on John’s exposed sex when he bends over one of the sinks, pants down to his knees, and reaches between his thighs to spread his perineum open.

Behind him a tabby whose name he hasn’t cared to remember groans like he’s been dealt a physical blow and John trembles at the sound of a zipper sliding down. There’s a clumsy rip he knows is the man’s frantic attempts to get his dick covered with a condom. John’s mew is plaintive, beckoning, and he pushes his ass up in further invitation, a hand pressed up on the mirror to further brace himself.

They certainly aren’t alone in the restroom. Three sinks down a male tabby is down on his knees sucking off two female toms, their attention flickering between him and John. A female queen who had been relieving herself in a washing her face is now openly watching John and the tabby, fingering her cunt. No doubt there are people in the stalls too.

Their scents alone make John flush, his cock so hard it aches already, the potent pheromones of his want rising in the room.

His wail is high pitched when he’s penetrated. No warning given, just the rough shove of cock into his cunt, pushing his folds out and fucking him open. “Fucking tight.” He hears, gasping as his ass is smacked. Behind him the tabby grinds in, bucking his hips against John, dragging a needy whine from him because he’s not deep enough and John doesn’t want to be teased.

“Please, please fuck me hard.” He whimpers and the aroma in the air thickens with his pleas. He can smell how everyone’s scent ramps up, responding to an apex queen’s odor of unrestrained desperation. John puts his face to the mirror, watches it fog as he pants and gasps onto the glass.

His hair is yanked tight in a firm grip, neck craning as his head is pulled back from the mirror. He gets what he asked for though, his tabby clutches one of his ass cheeks and thrusts in faster, rabbit like with his hips. Slick pulses from John’s cunt, running down his thighs. The head of his cock leaks out precome onto the floor, John wants to bend down and clean up the mess he’s making, careless to the unsanitary nature of his desires.

He imagines how it would look, how it would feel. His face pressed into the dirty tile, ass shaking as he’s pounded from behind and people watching John grunt, sob red-faced with humiliation while his tongue laps over the small puddles of wetness.

They’d jeer at him, filthy catcalls and suggestions that’d get him hot all over, whining for more cocks to fill his holes. To be smacked and taken without mercy, scratch marks peppering his thighs, teeth on his supple sex.

He’d be left to pull himself together afterwards, covered in sweat and come, an absolute mess between his legs. And John would ride in a taxi to his apartment squirming with the memory of being so overcome and debased, leaving a wet patch on his seat. He wouldn’t be thinking about how to temper his mouth, the stresses and uncertainty police academy held, or the anger still bone deep inside him that would start to flare at any slight he took personally.

No, all he’d be able to think about was how hard he’d come. How good being used and making those felids lose themselves with the pleasure he brought them had made him feel.

In John’s body men and women lost themselves, shed their masks, their inhibitions. They could be obscene, brutal and he only ever wanted more.

John holds that fantasy in his head as he’s fucked. It’s suddenly very, very warm in the restroom, enough that he feels lightheaded. A moan tears from his lips as his ass is smacked again, then again, in rough tandem with the thrusts he’s taking.

“Oh, oh _fuck_ , I’m…” Then he’s coming with a soft cry, knuckles white on the edge of the sink and his palm slapping at the mirror.

John hears the other queen’s breath hitch, smells the musk of tom come and knows he’s far from the only one who just came.

Of course then the tabby gets a bit too post-coital touchy with him, draping himself over John’s back. It’s a red flag for John, who tries to avoid lingering after sex as a general rule. Figures that a tabby makes him come once, doesn’t get him to lock up, and then thinks he’s got some kind of claim on John.

As it is John shoulders him off, yanks up his pants and is out of the bathroom while the tabby is still stammering indignant pleas at him.

John orders a shot on the fruitier side, lights a cigarette and sits under the dimly lit bar, making eyes with a blonde female tom seated at a nearby table. He’s just about to go to her when a heavy hand settles on his shoulder and someone behind him leans right into John’s space.

“You’re even more of a sight then the seniors make you out to be.”

And John might not have ever spoken a word to the man but he recognizes that voice instantly. Desmond Jones. Apex tom, senior GCPD Academy classman, pretty much the poster boy for the school. It’s not difficult to see why, Jones has a good three to four inches on John, his brown skin is cast in a very inviting shade under the shadowy bar and there’s a fierce intelligence in his eyes. As well-honed as his physique.

“I take it you enjoyed the stall show then?” John asks.

Jones quirks an eyebrow, takes a seat on the empty stool beside him. “Definitely. So do we need to start with introductions then? There’s no way I could mistake you for anyone else.”

Flirting is not one of John’s favorite social activities. Trading innuendos and suggestions feels pointless in the face raw chemistry, an excessive tool that verifies what’s already known. Compatibility can be felt just as easily as spoken. Why bother with the rest?

So he cuts to the chase.

“And I know who you are.” John says, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. “Senior tom at the academy. You’ve got most of the queens wetting themselves for your dick, I’m sure you know. But you’re going to have to bring more than a rep to the table if you want me in your bed tonight.”

Not that John’s against Jones having him right here on the bar or the dance floor. But there’s something in Jones’ personality and swagger that tells John he’s a tom used to having his way. It brings the spitfire attitude out in John. He wants to make that confidence knock against his own self-assurance and watch the result. See if he’ll be surprised.

Usually toms don’t like their conquests playing hard to get, particularly apex toms.

Jones only grins. “I can bring something much more capable of satisfying you than anyone you’ve had tonight.”

“Can you now?”

“We both know the answer to that freshman.”

His arm moves to wrap around John’s waist, slow enough for John to pull back if he wanted. Its weight is heavy, but somehow not demanding. A promise to be accepted or refused. John tilts his chin up, lip curled in a sneer at odds with the lust in his eyes. He’s not put off in the least and when Jones brings a hand up to touch his mouth John lets him, holds eye contact as his tongue flicks over a thumb. Then he bites, hard.

The grin on Jones’ face turns to a smile, all teeth. He presses their bodies flush against one another so they’re only breathing each other’s scents in. And fuck Jones smells really good, sharp, spicy even. Their pheromones at least, are well matched.

John hums, his arousal spiking. “How many times do you think you can get me off?” He asks. “You’re no good to me if you’re gonna roll over and start snoring after round one.”

He gets a low growl for that remark. Jones leans down and nips at his lips. “How much do you want to be able to feel where I’ve fucked you tomorrow?”

Now _that’s_ a promise John won’t say no to.

 

+

 

In the elevator up to his loft Jones crowds John, slots their mouths together. He’s so tall John has to tilt his head up to catch those soft lips. He likes the contrast in their bodies though. It makes him shiver, grip some very well defined biceps hard. Anticipation surges; John wonders if Jones will press all of his bulk onto him when they fuck. If he could hold John up and bounce him on his dick. He’s all cocksure confidence, the consummate apex tom, but can he back it up?

A hand palms at John’s cock though his jeans. “You smell so good.” Jones whispers in his ear, nipping at its lobe.

“So I’ve been told.” John pants, baring his throat for more kisses. Inwardly he’s taken aback to have that compliment aimed at him when he still reeks of tabby and other queens.

Jones must sense that in his tone because he grins against John’s neck and says. “But not like this. Bet I can make you scream before I even get my dick in you.”

Without giving John a chance to reply Jones’ drops to his knees in front of him, shoving down John’s jeans and mouthing at his half hard cock.

John flings a hand over his mouth to stifle his shocked gasp, for once annoyed his first reaction is so open. With male felids often John’s lucky if they pay enough attention to his cock to give him a reach around. Yet here’s Jones licking his crown sucking John in like they’re the only parts of him he wants. The wet heat paired with the intent in Jones’ eyes as he holds John’s gaze rattles him.

He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders. Damned if he’s going let this smug bastard prove himself right easily.

Despite his mindset it’s a challenge to keep his lashes from fluttering when he locks in on the sight of gorgeous, thick lips parting around his cock. Sliding up, down, unhurried, like Jones’ has all the time in the world to suck John off and wants to use every minute doing just that. He draws back until only the head is inside, suckling in long, hot pulses. John’s stomach tightens, his thighs giving a traitorous quiver while precome weeps from his slit.

Jones’ expression is as haughty as one can be with a cock in their mouth.

John doesn’t realize he’s pushed the lower half of himself out from the wall until Jones delivers a swift slap to his ass. Heat chases after the sting on his cheek and John’s whimpering before he can stop himself, arching his body out further for more. Another slap, harder than the last, Jones’ nails raking over his ass cheeks.

John gasps with it, puts a hand on Jones’ head and uses the other to push his shirt up over his chest. He bites his bottom lip, still watching Jones. Teeth scrape along the sensitive vein on his underside, nip at his cockhead before Jones’ tongue flicks out into the slit.

 There’s no controlling the tremble in John’s thighs, how his knees are starting to go weak.

“So good.” He admits, voice breathy. Around him Jones hums, scratches a trail from John’s ass around to his cunt. He squeezes the plump valley of his perineum together hard as he bobs his head, squeezing every so often.

John hisses, “ _Yes_.”, struggling to remember why not being vocal is important. Growling, Jones’ free hand pushes up John’s chest. John bucks as his nipples are cruelly twisted, pinched to reddened little pinpoints.

He’s leaking steadily into Jones’ mouth, his hips making jerky motions forward. And he can’t stop letting soft whimpers escape him, moans as he feels his cunt begin to drip slick in Jones’ fist.

Their elevator has been sitting at Jones’ floor for several minutes now. Neither of them cares.

John’s midway through being pleasantly surprised he’s so close to coming already when Jones suddenly tightens his grip on his perineum to the point of pain and _yanks_.

“Fuck!” John shouts, lurching forward, his orgasm all but punched out of him. He comes in long spurts down Jones’ throat, never taking his eyes off the tom, held in by the triumph in his stare.

John slumps against the wall, damn near falls over but is kept upright by Jones’ hands gripping his hips. They’re digging in with enough force John knows they’ll be bruises by the morning. He purrs at the idea, scratching his nails over Jones’ neck and shoulders with just as much force as Jones is using.

The spike in Jones’ scent hits John like a live wire. All the endorphins rushing through him ramp up and his softened dick begins to harden once more. _This_ is what makes fucking an apex tom incomparable and an apex queen’s heightened sensitivity to smell invaluable.

Where before Jones gave off the telltale aroma of sexual arousal, now there’s the primal, darker pheromone of a rut coloring his scent. Granted, a standard rut but it’s a smell just as a capable of opening John’s legs as a heat rut. He can feel Jones’ aggression, his instinct to fuck to the point of exhaustion and beyond, to prove his worth to John. To make John lock for him. The sharp, strong tang of his scent tells John he’s so hard his cock must be aching. And it has John’s sex swelling already, pulsing out a messy stream of slick. His jeans are, undoubtedly, beyond saving.

John starts to sink his nails into Jones’ neck, fist his shirt to pull up back up but Jones is right on the same wavelength, standing so quickly John would jerk back if he wasn’t already against the wall. He’s on edge and he loves it. Jones grabs his ass, hefts him up so John can get his knees around that hard waist and he’s shoving aside Jones’ shirt collar, dropping his face down into the sweaty length of Jones’ neck to breathe in where his pheromones are at one of their richest points.

He smells so good, John’s panting as he scents him, draping his body over Jones like an offering.

Jones is doing the same, kneading at John’s ass as he draws long breaths against his collarbone. “God, your scent.” He hisses, thrusting his hips forward, grinding their clothed erections together. John whimpers, ready to plead or spread his legs as far as he’s able already. He licks at Jones’ neck, inhaling deep, gasps when the surge of desire mixed with violent need makes his sex clench.

“My loft, we have to get inside-“ Jones punches his fist against the elevator buttons and thankfully the doors respond by opening. John’s not sure how long they spent inside it, right on Jones’ floor but he doesn’t care. He’ll fuck him here, against the wall or on the floor if Jones can’t get them elsewhere.

And he’ll fuck anyone who wants to get between them so long as it all leads back to Jones’ cock.

They’re still rutting against one another as they stumble inside the loft, Jones kicking off his shoes. He must have practice with this sort of position as he’s able to maintain his hold John without putting him down. Instead he presses John’s back up against a wall and promptly shoulders off his jacket, holding the weight on his pelvis and legs. John shudders at the display of strength, knows Jones can feel his approval by the pleased purr he gives.

He leans back enough to lift Jones’ shirt off him, greedy for the sight of naked skin. Hard edges and a toned physique he knows is there. Once Jones’ shirt is tossed aside he moans in appreciation, running his hands up and down solid biceps, long shoulders, over a back where he can feel the muscles rippling under the skin. Power and discipline all encased inside Jones. John drags his teeth over Jones’ throat, biting, leaving bruises in his wake as he kisses his shoulders and collarbone harshly, all want and no seduction.  No games.

No patience either, even as his fingers trail near reverent over Jones’ body John is so turned on his perineum has swelled open, throbs with every taste and touch. He’s mewling into Jones, rubbing shameless all over him. “Please,” John says, “Please more. Give me more.”

Jones growls again, reaches up to jerk John’s head back by the hair. Rips a cry from John’s throat, mindless, and Jones is scratching wherever he can reach as he bites the flesh of John’s neck. The reactions immediate; John’s eyes roll back, his mouth going slack, body pliant with submission. So wet the fabric of his jeans have dark patches.  

The grip on his hair relaxes, Jones catching John’s lips in a claiming kiss, still raking his nails along the skin underneath John’s shirt. “You’re overdressed.” He says, pulling John’s lower lip between his teeth. “And so am I.”

“Undress me then.” John aims for a purr, what comes out is a hiss. “Fuck me. Hit me. Mess me up.”

Jones doesn’t set him down until they’re in his bedroom. John's given enough time to process ditching his own shoes and Jones losing the rest of his clothes before his face meets the back of Jones’ hand.

He thinks he shouts “ _Harder!_ ” as he recoils with the blow, cock jumping. In response Jones hits him hard enough to make bright sparks of white color John’s vision. He’s thrown down onto the floor, teeth back on his neck, this time with a brutality that has his toes curling. Then finally, finally Jones shoves his jeans down under his knees until he can kick them off.

“Fuck me!” John sobs into the carpet, the words coming out muffled.  Jones just clicks his tongue, smacks John’s ass once, twice, over and over. Heat floods his backside again, each sting of a slap barely registered before another follows after it, knocking the breath out of John. He’s humping at the floor, groaning from the scratchy friction on his dick and Jones is talking to him, right in his ear: “You’re so fucking wet, I can smell it. How much you want to lock me, milk my come inside you. I could fuck you right now, couldn’t I? No lube, nothing but your come and you’d take it. You’d love it.”

He cups John’s jaw, says, “Open your mouth.” And when John obeys Jones spits into his mouth, gives a pleased purr when John only swallows, whimpering with it.

John takes Jones’ hand, uses it to cover his mouth and nose. Jones stiffens, pulls like he wants to move his hand away but John holds it to his face. A high moan wrings out from him, the sudden lack of oxygen rapidly making him dizzy. That apparently settles Jones. Instead of pulling away he shoves four fingers into John’s sex, pushing on the swelled walls inside his cunt. John bucks up but he takes it. God he takes it, purring as Jones pumps his fingers in and out, drags those thick digits against his folds to spread them apart, make them yield to his touch. John gasps for breath, coughing into Jones’ palm while he rocks his hips, riding his fingers. His movements are shaky, uncoordinated with his air supply being cut off. Jones is right, he loves this. He doesn’t want to breathe, he only wants more.

Just when he’s certain he’s going to blackout speared on Jones’ fingers his hand leaves John’s face. Taking in fast gulps of air, John throws his head back, lets every cry Jones’ hand had been quieting ring out while he shakes from the rough tempo of Jones’ fingers in his cunt.

“Oooh _fuck_.” John whines, pained, and he puts his face on the floor, yanks at his nipples. Pain shoots from his chest to his cock and sex. It feels so good he’s weeping from it, pushing up onto his knees as Jones’ fingers drive down even deeper. “Don’t stop, keep going.”

“Still so bossy.” Jones says, he doesn’t sound displeased at all. But he pulls his fingers out and smacks John’s cunt all the same, laughing with what sounds like amazement when he’s rewarded with a scream.

“That the spot babe?” Jones teases. There’s a beat of perhaps hesitance before he’s cracking his palm over John’s reddened sex again. “Right there? Can you come like this?”

John nods his head. “Yes, fuck yes-Fuck!” He cries as he comes with the next blow, his back bowing and ass pushed up high, the skin of his cunt burning, leaking slick down onto the floor.

Jones doesn’t let him linger in the aftershocks. He’s right on John, smothering his mouth with hot kisses, licking at the tears streaking his cheeks. “So fucking hot.” He says, then pushes three fingers into John’s mouth, pumping them in far enough to make John gag. There’s the strong, lush flavor of his slick coating them and a heavier taste John recognizes as the come he’s dirtied the floor with.

  _He’s making me clean up my mess_ , John thinks, shuddering. True to that, Jones pulls his fingers out only to scoop more traces of John’s come off the floor, presenting his hand to John to be tidied up. Blushing, John takes his time, lathes at each soiled finger, sucking them one by one into his mouth. Lets the sluttiest noises he can make push out around them.

Once he’s finished Jones fully rids him of his shirt, pulling John up onto his knees by the hair again. He bites at John’s mouth, spits on his face then uses his hand to smear the fluid around. While he does it John palms his own cock, squeezing until he whines, only allowing his fingers to skim down over his sex. His legs close tight, trapping his hand and he’s trembling, hungry for more. Needing more from Jones.

“Please,” John tries again, throat dry. “Please, I want it.”

Jones stands up fully, tugs at his cock in long, lazy pulls. “Where?”

Fucking bastard. John’s too worked up for it to matter what hole he’s getting fucked in. As long as somethings filling him up, fucking him open. He knows Jones can smell his desperation but he needs to hear John say it.

Well John is all too happy to beg.

“I don’t care. Anywhere, just fuck me. Please, now.”

That gets him what he wants. Jones wrenches him up and tosses him onto the bed, close behind. John lands face first, sprawled over crisp blue sheets and Jones yanks his hips back, gets him up onto his knees with his chest pressing into the bed, ass up and thighs apart.

“Look at that.” Jones nearly coos, voice soft as his hands spread John’s perineum. “Sweet and open for me.”

John fists the bedding, whimpers when he feels his folds being petted, massaged with two thick fingers. Jones smears his come around the trimmed hair on his cunt, coating him. Then it’s Jones’ cock there, his fat head pushing John’s pink lips apart, seeping out precome as it grinds up and down his sex. It's too much and not enough. John can’t stop making quiet, pleading noises, the slick skin of his sex wetting further as Jones’ dick rubs at it. He can feel the vein on Jones’ underside glance off his folds, every raised row of glands on his cock coaxing John’s cunt to swell further. How the head dips in enough to tease at his clenching hole.

In fact John might be crying again, so wrecked is he by the need to be fucked right now. Inside he’s burning, his walls swelled to the point of pain. But his fevered state doesn’t appear to effect Jones’ much; he’s humming as he presses a thumb to John’s asshole, only letting out a gasp when John’s rim quivers at the pressure.

“Keep singing for me like that babe.” Jones whispers, pushing his thumb past John’s tight hole. “So good for me.”

He keeps stroking his cock over John’s perineum, takes out his thumb to press two fingers into John instead. It burns but John doesn’t care, he’s sobbing out his relief, so grateful to have something inside him again his legs shake. Right when the fingers in him scissor apart and he moans, John hears Jones laugh.

“God I don’t know where I want to fuck you more.”

To that John lets out a whine, gyrating his hips. Past the point of begging aloud, he tries to tempt Jones with his body, back bowed and thighs spreading wider. Behind him Jones gives an approving growl before moving away. The sudden loss of the tom’s dominating presence sends John into a fit of needy mewls. Jones hasn’t gone far though, John turns his head and watches him rummage through a nearby dresser, pulling out handful of condoms.

That’s the last thing John wants. Rolling onto his back, he hikes his legs up and splays them wide. Presenting his leaking cock and sex, his shuddering belly to Jones. His fingers slip along slick skin, a wet smacking sound resounding when John slaps his cunt invitingly.

“No, no.” He tells Jones. “Want to feel your come. ‘M on the pill.”

Jones is on him in an instant, the rubbers thrown aside. He grabs John’s legs, putting them over his shoulders, his whole body lying on top of him. At such a close proximity the scent of Jones’ primal intent overwhelms John. His cock jerks while his stomach clenches up both with arousal and strain Jones’ weight.

“Do you like this?” Jones asks him, sounding uncertain for the first time tonight. John nods enthusiastically. In the morning his thighs will be aching and he’ll love that soreness. Jones’ cock bumps up against his perineum, leaves sticky patches of precome on the soft hairs there before finally lining up with his hole.

“Yes,” John pants, scratching at Jones’ flank.

As he pushes in Jones’ breath beats hot in John’s face, moaning when the raised glands on his cockhead and shaft begin to rub over John’s swollen walls. They’ve grown thick enough John’s grip on Jones’ cock has to just short of painful.

He watches Jones’ brow is furrows as he pushes deeper, lips parting. “Fuck.” Jones says, a purr rumbling in his chest. “You’re so _tight_ , goddamn.”

John can only moan, feeling himself clasp around Jones’ dick, every vein and gland on that heavy cock massaging inside him. Coaxing out more slick to make Jones’ thrusts messier, hotter as he pumps in mercilessly deep, as far as his dick will reach. He’s fucking all air from John’s lungs, driving his body down into the mattress, the hard smack of his pelvis on John’s thighs filthily audible.

Small cries fly out of John’s mouth, his cock rubbing along Jones’ stomach. The tom’s weight is so much delicious pressure on his body, just as good as his cock pounding into him. It feels suffocating, too much yet not enough. He needs it harder, needs it to hurt more.

“Put your hands on my neck.” John says. “Choke me.”

Jones shoves into him harder, biting at his lower lip. There’s ample conflict in the tom’s expression. John frowns. Much as he wants to be pushed beyond the brink, he doesn’t want Jones doing something he’s not comfortable with.

But fuck if he also doesn’t want Jones’ powerful hands on him selfishly. There’s a chance he might just be hesitating over whether his rut scent is making John so desperate to be hurt. They don’t know each other well enough for him to realize John’s desires are brutal, as feral as his nature. Pressing on is a risk but John takes it.

“Please.” He begs, tilting his head back. “I want you to.”

Anticipation rockets through John as he watches Jones swallow, then nod twice, the second time seemingly to himself. Jones wraps those big hands around his throat and John can’t nod but his eyes are screaming out _Yes, just like that, make me fall apart for you_.

Sweat drips from Jones’ forehead onto John’s face, stings in his eyes. They’re watering regardless, the grip cutting off his airway soon turning John’s face bright red all the way to his ears. Survival instinct has him trying to gasp, suck in any oxygen he can manage. Jones won’t take his eyes off John’s face, watching his reactions with a mixture of arousal and disbelief. Like he didn’t expect to get off on doing this to John at all. The proof is in his body though, he’s fucking John even faster. And John responds by grabbing Jones’ free hand, pinching his nose with it. Jones’ mouth falls open as John’s eyes grow wetter, his vision hazy.

Good, he wants to tell Jones how good this feels. This conquest, the helpless motions of his surrender, John’s muscles only tensing for so long before they begin to go lax. All the while Jones never slows the pace of his thrusts. He fucks into John with wild abandon, grunting out low, vicious noises that leave John feeling even weaker.

Abruptly John’s granted a momentary reprieve from the stranglehold on his neck. Taking sharp, ragged breaths, he spares a minute to spit out “Yeah” to Jones’ concerned string of “Are you okay?”.  His lungs burn from getting much needed oxygen. Denial and need in the most ruthless sense. A high John’s eager to experience again.

Although he gives John a few minutes to catch his breath, it doesn’t take more than a plea in John’s eyes before Jones is choking him again.  His cunt spasms around Jones’ cock, walls swelling further, wrenching a moan from the tom.  John’s eyes roll back, his lips starting to feel numb and then he’s coming before he realizes how close he is. His entire body quakes, rocked with convulsions, still held into submission by the hands on his throat and face.

Light bursts through John’s vision, blinding out all else. He barely registers the jump of Jones’ cock inside him, spurts of come pumping into John’s pulsing sex. Even his own dick shooting thick lines of white onto his stomach and chest is only briefly felt.

“Goddamn,” John thinks he hears Jones pant above the ringing in his ears. “Fuck babe!” His hands fall away, wet from the tears that have been streaming down John’s face.

Coughing, John focuses on the euphoria running through him as he pulls in gulps of air. He feels out-of-focus, sunk into the mattress with Jones’ body still covering him until he rolls off onto his back beside John, panting for breath. John reaches for Jones’ cock, moans when he finds it hard as ever, true to his rut.

 It’s not going to soften until the bone in Jones’ cock withdraws, however many orgasms he’ll have to coax from John for a lock to happen. Likewise John may not be a female apex queen but his dick hasn’t gone down either, its baculum still up in place.

John runs a hand through his hair, grinning at how unruly its become. After he’s caught enough breath he rolls too, straddling Jones’ waist. Grin still on his face John leans down for a kiss, scratching Jones’ scalp the way he’s learning will draw growls from the tom every time. When his nails trail behind Jones’ ears he’s delighted to be given a husky purr in response. Jones’s hands run over the long lines of raised skin his nails have left on John’s back, and further down, to the small of his back where he pushes gently on the raised bump there where the word “ _feral_ ” is inked in smooth black calligraphy. John throws his head back, bucking on top of Jones.

 Of course he’d take advantage of a queen’s biggest hot spots. Bastard indeed. John’s purring right back at him now. Fingers carefully brush over teeth marks that throb to the touch. However Jones shies away from touching John’s neck. There’ll be a ring of mottled bruises from his hand in no time.

With a nip at Jones’ lower lip John sits up, shifting to face away from Jones.

“Wait, wait.” Jones catches John with an arm around his waist. He kisses between John’s slick shoulder blades, tells him, “I want to see your face.”

He’s so earnest John laughs, soft and tender. “Okay.”

John turns around, leans back up on his hands, feet planted by Jones’ hips. Allowing Jones a good view of where his cock is fucking up into John is very important. Holding Jones’ stare, John guides his dick over his cunt, shuddering at the hot smudge of precome left behind, and down further. He nudges the head of Jones’ cock against his asshole, shivering as his rim quivers. Jones runs his hands up and down John’s legs, grabbing onto his hips when John starts lowering himself.

His hole burns from the rough friction of Jones’ cock going in, even wet as his dick is. John bites his lips, tastes blood, but he’s also moaning with each inch pushing inside. His rim spreads apart regardless and John mewls as each elevated glands under Jones’ cockhead slip past his hole. He feels so full with just half of Jones’ cock inside him. But he never slowing his descent, he nods at Jones to let him know this is fine. He can take this.

When he finally has all of Jones inside him John falls back on his elbows and lets out one lengthy purr. The sound rises from his chest, vibrates throughout him, and he knows Jones can feel that sound on his dick because his hold on John’s hips tightens. Jones’ head hits the pillows, he moans out a low “ _Fuck._ ” Then he’s raising his head again as John starts to move, back and forth, rocking on his cock.

All of Jones’ attention is locked on the sight of his dick sliding in and out of John’s ass, little trails of slick running from John’s hole to where his rim is stretched so wide. John’s eyes shut tight, he gets back up on his hands for better leverage and grinds forward, clenching his hole when Jones’ cock is pulling out. Those high glands on his dick feel as good in John’s ass as they did in his cunt but he needs more than this to come.

His cry is imploring and Jones responds with a growl, raises his hand and lands a firm smack on John’s inner thigh. John shakes with it, nodding his head. “Yeah, again. Do it again.” He sobs when he’s hit harder, much closer to his cock. It bounces with the motion, spurting out precome onto Jones’ stomach.

John starts moving faster, matching the rhythm of Jones’ blows to his hips and thighs. He’s not shy about doing this to John and clearly isn’t holding back most of his strength. It takes a lot of focus for John to even stay up on his hands and feet as he rides the tom, shaking with each hit, his skin at first pinking then starting to redden in earnest.

John loses his balance when Jones suddenly grasps his cock, hand circling the sensitive head. Lying on his back, he manages to keep Jones’ cock in him but can’t do more than tighten and quiver around him. Jones rubs his palm around the head of his dick, squeezing hard, his thumbnail running over John’s slit. A massage that has John’s nerves on fire. It hurts but he doesn’t try to move away at all as Jones scrapes his thumb over that dripping slit over and over, brings his other hand down to tug on John’s balls.

John comes with a whine, back arching up, his ass clenching hard around Jones’ cock. Thinner streams of come pour out from his cockhead, soaking Jones’ fingers while he keeps rubbing John through his climax.

He’s pulled up from the sheets by a warm grip around his middle. Jones sits up as well, stares at John with something far too similar to awe. Cheeks flushing, John shifts onto his knees and slowly lifts off Jones’ dick, savoring the drag through his hole. Taking a moment to tease in revenge John flicks the pad of his thumb over Jones’ slit a couple times, biting at the tom’s lips when they part.

“You bitch.” Jones says, gasping.

John’s grin is vicious. “You love it.”

Not wanting to allow Jones a chance to respond John swivels his hips back a bit, starts sitting down on Jones’ cock again, this time taking him into his cunt. Swollen as he’s grown it takes considerable more effort getting him in there. John’s tighter than ever and the glands on Jones’ dick only coax his sex to thicken more. He’s shaking with the pressure while reveling in that ache, loving the near helpless groans he’s forcing from Jones.

They’re both too far gone when John’s flush atop Jones’ pelvis to take it slow anymore. John can sense the tension in his body ramping up. He’s going to lock this time. Adrenaline pushes him to lift and fall back on Jones’ dick in a wild pace, his cock making a bigger mess of Jones’ stomach.

 Jones can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands. One moment he’s yanking at John’s hair, the next putting more scratches down his flank. That’s okay, John has an excellent idea.

“Hit me again.” He orders as he rocks his hips. “Do it. You want my lock? You gotta earn it.”

The hot-blooded, defiant challenge in his voice works wonders. Jones growls, cracks his hand across John’s face so fast all John sees is a blur. He moans, clawing at Jones’ arms when the tom begins to fuck up into him.

 Jones doesn’t shy away from rougher treatment then, he’s pounding up with quick snaps of his hips. Letting John get lost in the sensation right before he smacks his cheek.

If John doesn’t have lingering red prints on his face tomorrow, it’ll be a surprise. Jones slaps him again, clutching John’s chin when his head whips to the right from the force. He turns John back to face him, presses their foreheads together and slips his thumb into John’s open mouth. John suckles on it, moaning, circling his hips in Jones’ lap. Inside his cunt grinds along the glands of Jones’ cock, throbbing at the stream of precome pouring from its slit. A violent shudder wracks through John and he sucks harder on Jones’ thumb.

“Come on babe.” Jones grunts. “Come on.”

Heat puffs onto John’s face as Jones pants at him. Their bodies are slick with sweat and come, yet the sticky grind of their skin together feels absolutely perfect. It’s a messy, feral slide as Jones continues to thrust his hips up, bouncing John in his lap, dragging gasps so ragged from his mouth his throat aches with them.

“Feels- _god yes_ ,” John whimpers around Jones’ thumb, lips parting. “Feels…”

Nails dig into John’s back, raking down the arch of his spine to claw at the bump of flesh just above his ass. They press in deep, sending flares of agony shooting through John’s nerves.

“Ooh fuck!” John cries, head falling back as his cunt pulses and swells to its fullest point, locking Jones’ cock inside. The vibrating sensations that begin to run through him travel from his sex all through his body, making his shoulders shake, his toes curl. His lashes flutter at the first gush of come his cunt pulls from Jones’ dick. Then the next, and more still.

He’s sweating, body growing hotter as he’s filled up, knowing his perineum is clenched so tight not a drop of come is going to leak out. John’s purr is primal, low in tone and rippling with pleasure.

But Jones is trembling against him, trying to hold in his noises. Soft yowls begin to slip from his mouth, the distress in his voice calling John away from his euphoria. He purrs again, this time a quiet, soothing sound. Strokes his fingers through Jones’ hair, along his ears, down his neck, calming him.

“Shh,” John murmurs, licking at Jones’ lips, into his mouth. “I know. Just ride it out, let go for me.”

A queen’s lock is not easy to bear. John knows the vibrating pressure around Jones’ cock is overwhelming, well past painful and he won’t stop ejaculating until John’s body believes it’s been bred. Agony and ecstasy intertwine in a way not every tom is prepared to experience, even an apex. It’s obvious to John by how hard Jones is holding him he’s either never been locked in or hasn’t for a long time.

So he keeps talking to him, lavishing Jones with quiet praises and reassurances while his hands pet over the tom’s body. “That’s it, perfect. You feel so good. Won’t be long now.”

John’s having trouble staying coherent himself, overcome with the wet sensation of being filled to the brink. Eventually he settles for rocking them back and forth as his lock continues to pull come from Jones, careful to only move the upper portion of their bodies. Jones nuzzles his face into John’s neck, breathing in his scent and pheromones. After a few minutes his quivering begins to ease.

Birth control pills trick a queen into believing they’ve been bred only after a certain amount of come has been received. John’s found it varies person to person. Usually his lock never lasts longer than fifteen minutes.

Even so exhaustion is already beginning to creep up his body. He’s already realizing the error of convincing Jones to forego a condom but there’s little to be done about that now. Looks like he’ll be breaking one of his rules tonight.

John gently pushes at Jones’ shoulders, gets them lying down with himself arranged on top of Jones. There’s a bit of discomfort as John maneuvers one of his legs under Jones’ knee but he’s slept in far worse positions before. Jones gives no protest to the position, only lets an arm settle over John’s back.

It’s intimate in a way John knows he’ll regret even more come tomorrow, when the inevitable conversation about boundaries will surely take place. For now though he keeps petting over Jones, until the rhythm of his soft touches lull them both to sleep.

 

+

 

The blaring, shrill ring of the Gotham City national anthem is the cause of John going from comfortable slumber to morning disorientation.

 Set atop a wooden dresser, Jones’ clock reads 5:00 AM on the dot. John groans, unable to process the unfamiliar feeling of waking with a cock inside him before he’s scrambling to untangle himself from Jones.

It’s while rolling off the bed that he’s hit by all the aching, sex sore places their rutting has put on him. It even hurts to swallow. Normally John would grin, stretch to extend those throbbing sensations. As it is he’s far too busy mentally rearranging how he’s going to break “The Talk” to Jones now that he’s doing the walk of shame the morning after.

 That anxious sense of dread only increases when he finally digs his phone out of their pile of clothes. There’s a text message from the Gotham Police Academy:

_All classes cancelled for the day on account of winter weather._

“Fuck.” John spits out, heading out of the bedroom towards the windows lining Jones’ loft. By now Jones is awake as well, making questioning noises at his departure.

Sure enough when John peeks through the little spots uncovered by ice and snow, the streets below are blanketed in white. He’s snowed in with a one night stand. Wonderful.

“Hey.” Jones says, right fucking behind him. John startles and turns an annoyed glare on the tom. “Soon as they get the roads cleared I’ll drive you home.”

John’s hackles raise even higher. “So you can know where I’m staying? I don’t think so.”

“Makes more sense than waiting on the bus given what you wore.”

Practical logic, John’s never been one to turn that down but damned if he doesn’t accept it grudgingly this time. “Fine. But what are we supposed to do while Gotham’s finest snowplows take their time clearing the streets?”

Jones gives him a long, patient look John might have taken more offense to if he hadn’t also suddenly keyed in on the fact that they are both still very much naked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Arousal is prickling at John despite his unease. He leans towards the former in the end. Not like a few more rounds are going to change his entire game plan. At the most it’ll make convincing Jones they’re not suddenly lovebirds harder. But John likes challenges too, especially when they also involve fucking.

“Hmm,” He tilts his head, a play at further considering Jones’ offer. “Eat me.”

It turns out Jones is more than happy to oblige. Right then and there in fact, he presses John up against the glass and drops to his knees behind him, spreading his ass open.

Frost cloaks most of the window, making John gasp at the chill on his red nipples. He moans as Jones continues to grope his ass, wondering if it’s possible for anyone outside to see even a glimpse of him. The thought makes his head spin and his cunt wet Jones’ mouth further.

“Yeah, bite it.” John says, reaching down to clutch at Jones’ short hair. His body jerks as he’s obeyed, teeth sinking into the plump skin of his perineum. “ _Fuck_ , like that. Again.”

John collapses against the window when Jones reaches around to give his cock a slap. Breath hitching he grinds back onto Jones’ mouth, letting out raspy moans when his folds slide over slick lips, a clever tongue swirling around them then dipping into his hole. It’s so good John’s not sure how he’s able to stay standing, all his weight seems to be supported by Jones’ big hands on his ass, keeping him open. He glances over his shoulder down to where he can see Jones’ face framed by his cheeks, the look in his eyes dark. Then Jones starts fucking his tongue inside John, his nose rubbing over John’s asshole.

Jones keeps making messy, eager noises as he eats him out, pausing to smack his lips every so often. John can feel how wet he’s grown, slick running down his thighs and no doubt coating Jones’ face. His cock bobs, thick pearls of precome leaking from the head. Doubly so when Jones gives it another stinging slap.

John whimpers, smacks at the window. He’s rubbing himself carelessly onto Jones, no longer considering whether or not he has enough space to breathe around John’s sex. It feels too good for him to stop rolling his hips, driving Jones’ tongue deeper, stroking his cunt back and forth over a face all too willing to be smothered by him it seems. He wants to come, God, he wants to come.

Suddenly Jones pulls away, heedless to John’s protesting mewl. “I have to fuck you again.” He says, palming his cock. “Can I?”

“Yes.” John breathes, chest heaving. “Yes, hurry.”

He lifts one leg up to the windowsill, resting his knee there, and reaches back with a hand to pull his cheeks apart, showing Jones his softened holes. Glancing over his shoulder, John knows his gaze is searing on the tom, a silent order responds to by shoving into his asshole without further prompting. John shocks with the rough penetration, mouth open in a silent cry as Jones pushes in deep, never stopping to let him adjust. He makes John accept his cock, immediately starts fucking him at a harsh pace that sends his balls slapping over John’s cunt.

And John weeps with it, head dropping down. “More, fuck me harder.”

Jones leans back with John’s hair held in his fist. It forces John to crane his neck and arch his back as he’s fucked, his hand still parting his ass for the tom. The display of dominance has him hot, feeling like a wild animal being made to heel. Too feral to be taken gently.

“ _G-God_ ,” His hand trembles on the windowsill, knee nearly slipping off. Jones thrusts harder then, shoving John’s body forward against the glass with every thrust.

They both come that way, rutting on a frosted window, sunlight bathing both their bodies. John purrs as he lowers his leg, feeling Jones’ come slip out of his hole. Oh yes, he’ll enjoy the rest of his time in this loft enough to make up for what it’ll take to leave without a would-be courter.

And it’s frighteningly as if Jones has a direct line to this thoughts because as he steps away, hands resting on John’s hips, he says. “We should exchange numbers. You are something else.”

John stiffens and moves away from the window, putting more distance between them.

“Just because I locked us together and spent the night-“

Jones’ laugh cuts him off. It’s light and even bashful. “Yeah, that surprised me most of all. Wasn’t expecting to wake up with you still here.”

 _Neither was I_. John groans. “This never gets any less tiring. Let me be clear: I’m not looking for a boyfriend and I definitely have no plans on mating with you and starting a little pride. This was just a really great fuck okay?”

Though Jones’ hands rise in a pacifying gesture, he looks annoyed. John can’t tell whether it’s at the rebuttal or the assumption of his motives. “Easy there freshman.” He says before his expression softens. “I never said anything about dating or mating did I?”

“No.” John admits, but his frown stays.

“Then there’s no need to jump to conclusions.”

For some reason the hint of condescension in Jones’ tone only grates John further. Fuck apex toms and their superiority complex.

John walks back to the bedroom without a word, sitting on the bed’s edge and plucking his clothing from the floor. He’s not sure what he’s going to do until he’s able to get back to his dorm. Sit on the couch and glare at Jones, maybe.

Jones, whose leaning in the entryway, watching him. “All I’m saying is this was a great fuck for me too, and I’d like to fuck you again. Doesn’t mean I’m going to buy you flowers or try to imprint my scent on you.”

After a moment Jones sits on the bed, reaches a tentative hand out towards John. He doesn’t touch him though, just lets it lie beside John’s knee and John hadn’t realized he’d gathered his clothes up to his body, covering himself. A protective gesture.

Distrust settles over John. Can he really trust an apex tom not to get possessive? The notion alone is contradictory to all his experiences with toms so far and everything he’s been taught about mating.

Then again, going with that logic John’s one giant contradictory himself. The proof is written on his lower back, branded as a mark of reclamation.

Finally he replies. “Only if you understand this isn’t an exclusive relationship. I’m going to fuck whoever I please, whenever I want without any say from you on the issue.”

Jones nods without grimacing, without his scent spiking with an aggression John’s long since realized is a challenge to his autonomy.  Just nods, rules accepted, end of discussion. Optimism, brittle and carefully guarded, begins to burn a little brighter in John.

Then Jones smirks. “You’re getting my sheets wet.”

“With _your_ come.” John huffs, not willing to grin just yet. “If you didn’t shoot off like a faucet your bed wouldn’t be so messy. You’re wearing a condom for the rest of the day.”

“Even in the shower?”

“That’s a bit presumptuous.” But John’s grinning now. “We’re only fucking in the shower if you can fuck me up against the wall without putting me down first.”

Apparently John’s not the only one who likes a challenge. Jones is lifting him up in his arms as soon as John throws his clothes back on the floor. “Deal.”


End file.
